


catching diamonds in the rain

by blackkat



Series: Role Swap AUs [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Friendship, Humor, Lieutenant Muguruma Kensei, Light Angst, M/M, Vizard Hisagi Shuuhei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Okay there, Shūhei?” Shinji asks lazily.Shūhei doesn’t bother to look over, eyes on the still form of the Substitute Shinigami occupying their couch. “Fine,” he says dryly. “All of our hopes resting on a human who isn’t even two decades old yet. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Clearly this is the best outcome.”





	catching diamonds in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: For the role reversal prompt, how about Shuhei Hisagi as the former 9th division captain turned Vizard and Kensei as the young lieutenant who looks up to him/is infatuated by him?

“Okay there, Shūhei?” Shinji asks lazily.

Shūhei doesn’t bother to look over, eyes on the still form of the Substitute Shinigami occupying their couch. “Fine,” he says dryly. “All of our hopes resting on a human who isn’t even two decades old yet. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Clearly this is the best outcome.”

Shinji snorts, bumping their shoulders together to jostle him. “Looks like he’s in tight with some of the bastards from the Ninth,” he drawls, and maybe someone else would be fooled by that tone, by the apparent nonchalance of his body language, but Shūhei’s known him for centuries and refuses to fall for it.

“If that’s supposed to be a point in his favor, try again,” he say, but Rose lifts his head from where he’s tuning his guitar and makes a sound of interest.

“That boy you met?” he asks curiously. “So he became a Shinigami after all?”

“Under Tōsen,” Shūhei says flatly, and pushes off the ledge, dropping lightly to the floor. Before he can retreat, though, Shinji snickers, and a moment later he’s flickering past Shūhei, grabbing Rose and levering him to his feet.

“You’ve got this, yeah, Shūhei?” he asks, grinning. “Me an’ Rose are gonna go grab a drink, so you watch the kid.”

Shūhei splutters a refusal, but it’s already too late. As quick as he always is when escaping responsibility, Shinji tosses him a salute and vanishes, hauling Rose and his guitar along with him and leaving Shūhei alone in the warehouse. Alone with the Substitute Shinigami who can’t control his own power, and Shūhei sighs in irritation and drags a hand through his hair.

Shinji probably just wants to avoid any of the awkward explanations about how the Vizards ended up in a warehouse in Karakura. _Or_ he wants to avoid anyone who might come looking for Ichigo, which Shūhei would frankly also like to do. He knows that, out of the group of Shinigami in Karakura to look out for Ichigo, there’s one in particular who will probably seek him out on a regular basis, and—

The past should stay buried, Shūhei thinks bitterly, curling his fingers around Kazeshini’s hilt. There’s no use in bringing it up now, is there? It’s been a hundred years already.

The Hollow in his head is quiet for once, the rattle of chains finally stilled. Watching, Shūhei knows, and he closes his eyes in silent apology, loosening his grip. No fight here, even though he wants one. No place to spend their frustration, because tearing through a city block is a lot more noticeable than tearing up a remote chunk of forest. And with Shinji having dumped the responsibility of watching Ichigo on him, Shūhei doesn’t even have the option of ducking into Hachi’s barrier and letting off some steam.

With a sigh, he sinks down on the arm of the couch, folding a leg under him, and leans back against the wall. Watches Ichigo for a moment, still not entirely able to believe that this is the kid Aizen is making such a fuss over, that Shinji is pinning his hopes on.

A flicker, dark and traced with red, seen from the corner of his eye. Shūhei doesn’t look over as Kazeshini takes form, always a little too independent, always a little too strong. The clank of chains sounds loud in the quiet building, jarring, but Shūhei’s head is chains and blades and blood at the best of time, and he doesn’t flinch. Not anymore.

“Another thing Tōsen got his greedy little hands on,” Kazeshini laughs, leaning back beside him. There’s no humor in the Hollow, though, just malice. Just _jealousy_, and Shūhei closes his eyes, tries to marshal it.

“He was just one more person we saved,” he says tightly. “Nothing more.”

Kazeshini clicks his tongue, reproving, and clawed fingers curl to fists. “He was the last good thing we did as a Shinigami,” he retorts, and that dark, wavering voice is full of the same poison that fills Shūhei’s chest when he thinks about swords in the dark, a stab from behind that cleaved right through his stomach. Tōsen, quiet, docile, obedient Tōsen, had cut down his captain, and Shūhei never even suspected it was coming.

“What did being a Shinigami matter,” Shūhei says bitterly, “if this is where we ended up?”

Carefully, deliberately, he lifts a hand. The weight of Kazeshini’s eyes is on him, silent, judging, and Shūhei curls his fingers sharply, feels bone against his skin. Doesn’t pull down, but—

The mask is there, waiting. A symbol of the change, of the fact that Shūhei isn’t a Shinigami anymore and will never be again.

“Still alive,” Kazeshini says, and his laugh is a wavering, warbling thing, flickering like shadows in the firelight. “We’re still alive, Shūhei.”

Despite himself, Shūhei lets out a breath that’s almost amusement. They are. And a Rukongai brat like him knows better than to discount that. They’re alive, they’re moving, and like desperate, starving dogs, they’re at their most dangerous when there’s nothing left they can possibly lose.

“Life and death,” he says, reaching out, and Kazeshini snickers. When Shūhei’s fingers curl around the chain that connects the two halves of his weapon, draped around the spirit’s neck, he can feel the hum, like touching a Chain of Fate.

Well, Shūhei thinks, drawing back. If Shinji’s not here, that at least means he doesn’t have to listen to yet another collection of obscure jazz that makes him want to pull his eardrums out with a spoon. A hundred years with the other former captains and lieutenants has made him appreciate silence in a way he never managed before.

Soul Society’s greatest hope of stopping Aizen keeps snoring on the couch, bruises across his face slowly mending themselves. Shūhei doesn’t look at him, doesn’t let himself dwell on the figure he saw last time he passed Ichigo and his friends in their training, a man with silver hair and a loud laugh, lieutenant of Shūhei’s former division and student of Shūhei’s greatest betrayer.

He’s _not thinking_. He isn’t. Kensei is someone from an old life, a _lost_ life. He’s a brat Shūhei saved from a Hollow and nothing related to the man who caught his eye, made him look again just to catch a glimpse of that smirk.

Shūhei scrubs a hand over the scars on his face, drags in a breath. “I need to hit something,”

Kazeshini laughs, and his grin is a slash of white like light on a blade. The rattle of chains is impossibly loud in Shūhei’s ears. “I think I can help with that, as long as you’re not _scared_, Shūhei,” he jeers.

Shūhei’s fingers itch for the feel of bone, the burning cold of the mask settling over his skin. “Try me,” he challenges, sharp, _angry_ with a hundred years of smoldering coals to bring his rage up into a blaze.

They make it behind Hachi’s barrier before they let loose, but only because Shūhei likes to pretend that he’s the responsible one in their little madhouse, and sometimes Kazeshini even lets him get away with it.

It’s probably not surprising to find Ichigo awake when Shūhei finally stumbles out of the training area, sweaty and sore and finally feeling easy in his own head again. Hachi’s barriers don’t guard against sound, after all, and Shūhei wasn’t trying to be quiet.

“Head in one piece?” he asks the figure seated on the stone, and steals the water bottle Lisa left by the entrance.

For a long moment, Ichigo just watches him, wary but also edged with desperation. Shūhei remembers that feeling all too well, that terror of himself that wouldn’t abate, the control slipping through his fingers and trickling away like sand in an hourglass. He’d always feared Kazeshini, because fear of one’s power is the best way not to abuse that power, but those first few years—

Well. He would have expected he and Kazeshini to tear themselves apart, long before they ever managed to claw their way back to control.

“I'm fine,” Ichigo says. His eyes flicker back to the training ground, and then he says tightly, like a challenge, “How did you _do_ that?”

Maybe it’s that thought that makes Shūhei soften faintly, that memory. Or maybe Love is right and he has an incurable weakness for acting like a teacher. No one in the Ninth ever complained when he was captain, though, and it’s not like he’s had the chance to indulge while they’ve been on the run.

“Shinji and the others are going to help you,” he says, not unkindly. “Once you can work with your Hollow side, I can help you with summoning him and learning how to manage your reiatsu. Control is the most important part, though.”

Ichigo's ever-present frown deepens faintly. “Shinji was saying I have to _control_ my Hollow side,” he says warily.

Shūhei rolls his eyes. “I'm sure he thinks so,” he says, which is more diplomatic than he could be, but probably not as polite as he _should_ be. But—

Fear isn’t quite respect, and respect isn’t anything like understanding, and the last hundred years have done more to help Shūhei realize that than training for bankai ever did. Before, Kazeshini was his weapon, a sword forged from his own soul, but still separate.

Now, with chains rattling in his head and bone under his fingertips, Shūhei finally understands that there was never a difference between them to begin with.

Ichigo’s eyes flicker back to the training ground, like he’s tracing out the last moments of Shūhei’s fight. Like he’s trying to catalogue how Shūhei summoned his mask, strategic, timed. Shūhei doesn’t tell him that half of it is for show for intimidation—he can hold it longer, when he wants to, but it’s sometimes more valuable to startle an opponent, to unnerve them with sudden bursts of a Hollow’s reiatsu, the sight of a ghostly mask on a fellow Shinigami’s face.

There’s a reason he and Shinji have always gotten along, really. Lisa likes to call them both manipulative bastards, and—she’s not entirely wrong.

“The Hollow keeps saying he’s going to take my place,” Ichigo says abruptly, challengingly. Angry, even if he keeps it tightly leashed. “I can’t work with him when he wants to kill me.”

Shūhei snorts, dropping down onto the boulder beside Ichigo and stretching lightly. “You don’t strike me as the suicidal type,” he says. “Killing you kills him, too. Any change to your soul is a change to _him_. The sooner you figure that out, the sooner you’ll be able to actually control your power.”

Ichigo scowls, but he doesn’t leave. Leans forward instead, braced against an upraised knee, and says pointedly, “Who even are you?”

He’s one training session in to Shinji’s lesson plan, and odds are Shinji is going to be his usual bastard self and sit on all pertinent information until the very last minute; it’s a bad habit even Hiyori hasn’t been able to kick out of him yet. It’s also not how Shūhei operates at all, so he sighs and crosses his legs underneath himself, weighing what to say.

“Hisagi Shūhei,” he says, and—bitterness rises in his mouth, but he still manages to get out, “Former captain of the Ninth Division.”

Ichigo’s eyes widen, and he hesitates like he doesn’t know what to say.

“Yeah,” Shūhei agrees dryly. Touches Kazeshini’s hilt, debating, and then decides that if Shinji wanted to abandon him with Ichigo, he should have prepared himself for this. Shūhei’s never been one for bullshit. “Shinji was the captain of the Fifth, and Mashiro was my lieutenant. All of us were captains or lieutenants, and Aizen decided we’d make the perfect subjects for his experiments.”

Too much bitterness. Too sharp, too angry, and Shūhei takes a breath and marshals himself. Lets go of his sword, and gives Ichigo a wry smile. “Kisuke saved us by turning us into Vizards. Probably about the same way he turned you into one.”

There’s a long, long moment of silence as Ichigo digests that, and then he lets out a ragged breath. “It was Urahara?” he demands, and his voice doesn’t quite crack, but—almost. “I thought it was because I was some sort of—”

_Freak. Psychopath. Monster. _Shūhei can hear the words, even if Ichigo doesn’t say them. He snorts, shakes his head. “It’s a defense, that’s all. Our souls were hurt, so they grew armor, instincts. Kisuke used that to keep us alive when we should have died, and we have to deal with the side effects, but it doesn’t change who we are. It doesn’t change our swords, either.”

“The Hollow just wants to kill,” Ichigo says sharply. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s an instinct,” Shūhei counters, unyielding. “He’s defending you, like a vaccination fighting against a disease. Once you understand that, you might be surprised to realize how easy it is to work together. You want the same things, at the bottom of it.” He pushes back to his feet, dropping Lisa’s water bottle where it was, and then pauses.

“Shinji’s got his own way of doing things,” he says. Doesn’t look back at Ichigo, but can feel the weight of eyes on his spine. “His power’s just another tool to him, though. Learning to use his Hollow side was just like learning to use kido. But your Hollow is an instinct that’s always going to be with you, and if you don’t respect him for what he is, you’re crippling yourself. Be scared, if you have to. But don’t let it stop you from understanding.”

Ichigo doesn’t answer, and Shūhei doesn’t wait around for him to gather his thoughts. He heads up to the main part of the base, settling himself in a corner to run through some cool-down stretches, and doesn’t look around when the door to the warehouse closes with a soft click.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Ichigo demands, barely ten seconds after waking up.

Kensei doesn’t bother to look up from where he’s stretching Kon’s face, perched on the foot of Ichigo's bed. It’s a nice bed. Pretty comfortable. Kensei would have tried to worm his way in next to Ichigo and go to sleep, but Matsumoto did that yesterday, and really, watching Ichigo get flustered by his bare chest is already pretty fun. “What? What’s that tone for? No more gratitude that I saved your ass in the Seireitei?”

“You can't _keep_ holding that over my head,” Ichigo says, and he sounds annoyed. Kensei hides his smirk, letting go of Kon as the mod soul wiggles and wails and finally bolts, and huffs as he leans back on his hands.

“Sure I can,” he says cockily, and when Ichigo glares, he just raises a brow at him. “Your face is gonna get stuck that way, asshole.”

“It still won't be nearly as bad as yours,” Ichigo retorts, sitting up. He hesitates, flicking another glance towards Kensei, but surprisingly it’s not at Kensei's chest again, as fun as his bisexual panic usually is. It’s at his lieutenant’s armband, marked with the white poppy of the Ninth, clear against the bare skin of his arm.

“You're in the Ninth, right?” he asks after a moment.

Kensei blinks, surprised by the question. “Yeah,” he says, and tugs the armband around so Ichigo can see it. “Tōsen fucked us right to hell, but we’re still around. I think Ukitake’s got one of his third seats looking after the place right now.”

That doesn’t look like what Ichigo actually wants to know. He pauses for a minute, frowning, and when Kensei raises a brow at him, he curls one hand into a fist and asks, “Who was the captain before Tōsen?”

Kensei stills. It’s not the kind of thing someone would ask without reason, and it’s _definitely_ not something Ichigo heard about from any of the other Shinigami. No one talks about the captains and lieutenants who deserted. Not anymore, and especially not now.

“Kensei?” Ichigo asks, and that frown is only getting deeper.

Still. Better for him to hear this little chunk of Soul Society’s history from Kensei, right? People like Hitsugaya and Ikkaku probably won't be nearly as sympathetic.

“I heard you,” he says shortly, and drags a hand over his hair, wondering what to say. “Tōsen was only captain for a hundred years. Before that, he was fifth seat to Hisagi Shūhei.”

The name’s still a little uncomfortable. It’s all too easy to remember Shūhei as Kensei first saw him, a deadly figure in black who appeared out of the Rukongai and stepped right between Kensei and a Hollow, alone and perfectly confident. In the aftermath, he’d been kind, even when Kensei yelled at him, and Kensei felt the closest thing to hero worship for him that he’s ever felt to anyone. A hell of a lot more than he felt for Tōsen, too. But Shūhei was—

“He saved my life, once,” Kensei says, and looks past Ichigo, out the window. “When I was just a brat. And he had this 69 tattooed on his face—for the district he was from in Rukongai, you know? To show everyone who looked at him that he wasn’t some noble-born asshole. He was just a Rukongai dog like me. One of the reasons I became a Shinigami. I figured if he could do it, starting like he did, so could I.”

Ichigo is silent for a long moment, and Kensei doesn’t look over but he can feel the kid watching him. “So what happened to him?” he asks neutrally.

Kensei barks out a laugh, rough and unamused. “He and a bunch of other captains and lieutenants experimented on themselves. Trying to increase their power. But it went wrong, and they turned into Hollows. I heard Urahara snuck them out of Soul Society so that the Gotei 13 wouldn’t execute them, but no one really knows.” He pauses, grimaces. “That shithead Aizen was the one to report it, actually. Guess he didn’t want the competition.”

When Kensei finally glances back, Ichigo's frown has only gotten deeper, edged with something almost angry. “Oh,” he says, and it reminds Kensei abruptly that Ichigo is _dangerous_. He’s just a kid, and he blushes and squawks and yells at people, but—there’s a reason he was able to stop Rukia's execution cold. There's a reason he’s the one Aizen is focused so completely on.

“Hey,” he says, and shoves at Ichigo's leg with a foot. “I want to kick your ass around Urahara’s basement a few times. Let’s go spar.” When Ichigo opens his mouth, refusal clear on his face, Kensei scoffs. “Not with zanpakutō, that’s boring. Rukia was saying you know karate. We can go hand to hand.”

A suspicious amount of relief flickers across Ichigo's face, and he nods, shoving the blankets back. “Fine, but when I win you have to stop crawling in through my window like a creeper.”

Kensei splutters. “As if I'm going to let you win! And I'm not a creeper!”

Ichigo's look is flatly unimpressed, and he kicks Kensei hard in the thigh. “Get the hell out already and let me change.”

“Asshole,” Kensei mutters, but he pries himself off the comfortable bed and up onto the windowsill. “I’ll be on the roof. Hurry the hell up.”

Ichigo flips him off and slams the window shut behind him, pointedly drawing the curtain, and even with the thought of Shūhei’s fate so close, Kensei is still laughing when he leaps up to the roof and settles there, content to wait.

Something’s up with Ichigo. The kid Kensei met in Soul Society wouldn’t have hesitated to go head to head in a friendly spar, but now, Ichigo's acting like he’s afraid to pull out his zanpakutō. Kensei doesn’t like it much, and one way or another, he’s going to get to the bottom of it.

“You're brooding,” Lisa says accusingly, and jabs Shūhei with a knuckle.

“I'm _thinking,_” Shūhei retorts, though he doesn’t try to wiggle out from underneath her. She’s a warm weight, and her hair is soft under his fingers as he combs it out.

“Is there a difference?” she drawls, and Shūhei rolls his eyes at her, making her smirk. With a soft sound like a cat, she rolls over, settling her head on his thighs, and eyes him narrowly through her glasses. Says craftily, “I heard that boy you saved is a lieutenant now. _Your_ lieutenant, even.”

“I'm not the Ninth’s captain,” Shūhei says, more than a little bitterly. “And he’s definitely not my lieutenant.”

“A shame,” Lisa says blandly. “Officer-subordinate romances are always good.”

Heat explodes in Shūhei’s face, and he hisses at her in irritation. Goes to jab at her, but Lisa catches his hand, squeezes like she’s reminding him that she can and will break it, and then lets go again.

“Stop thinking about my sex life,” Shūhei tells her firmly.

“You don’t have one,” Lisa retorts, “so that’s easy.” While Shūhei is spluttering, she sits up, running her fingers through her hair and then pulling it up into a tail. Shūhei shoves the tie at her, glaring, and she smirks at him but takes it.

“Hachi wanted me to tell you not to tear up the training area for a few days,” she says. “He’s working on strengthening the barrier.”

Shūhei grimaces, because if he doesn’t have _somewhere_ to let loose there are going to be a lot fewer Vizards by the time Hashi reopens the training area. “Fine, I’ll go to Kisuke’s,” he says, and pushes to his feet. “Are you coming?”

Lisa cocks her head, considering it. “No,” she says after a moment. “Next time. Love’s almost done with that manga I want to borrow.”

“Suit yourself,” Shūhei says, and reaches for Kazeshini, testing his willingness. He needn’t have worried; the instant the chance to come out and cause chaos is raised, Kazeshini is rising, eager and cackling, chains rattling loudly.

Well. That’s clear enough, really.

Shinji waves lazily as Shūhei passes, pushing out of the warehouse and then out into the town. It’s sunny, bright after the dimness, and Shūhei squints for a moment before he jumps for a rooftop. A few long, leaping steps of shunpo carry him across town, into a familiar neighborhood, and he drops down on a quiet street outside Urahara Shoten.

Instantly, there’s a laugh, and a shape drops down from the eaves, landing lightly. “Shūhei!” Yoruichi says cheerfully. “It’s been a while!”

There's mischief on her face, obvious and intent, and Shūhei eyes her warily even as he takes a few steps closer. “Yoruichi,” he returns. “Is Kisuke around?”

“Here to restart your fling?” Yoruichi asks, sly, and Shūhei flushes and gives her a dark look. She laughs, smug, and perches on the railing like the cat she is. “Oh, don’t worry, I'm not mad. We were taking a break.” She pauses, cocking her head, and then smirks. “Well. I'm a little mad, but only that you didn’t invite me to join.”

Shūhei’s never escaped a conversation with Yoruichi _without _his face as red as a tomato, and he wonders resignedly why he expected to start now. “I just wanted to use the basement,” he says with all the dignity he can muster.

“Boring,” Yoruichi decides, but she waves him towards the door. “I think Ichigo's already down there.”

“Thank you,” Shūhei says politely, and slips past her, trying not to pay attention to her smirk. The path down to the training room is familiar, and Shūhei slips through the trapdoor, drops down the ladder, and lands lightly, scanning the open area. There's a cloud of dust near one end, flying splinters of rock and smoke, and Shūhei snorts, but leaps to the top of a tall stone, watching it shred. Maybe Ichigo will want a match, since he knows it will take a hell of a lot to hurt Shūhei—

The dust cloud splits like a hurricane just hit it, a blast of wind that makes Shūhei’s clothes rustle even from a distance, and a figure comes clear.

_Oh_., Shūhei thinks, and swallows hard, cursing Yoruichi. Not _just_ Ichigo, but a familiar man in a sleeveless shihakusho, grinning, his silver hair three shades browner with dust. Kensei has his trench knife zanpakutō out and up, shikai released, and reiatsu swirls around him like a trapped breeze.

“Nice try!” he calls, mocking, as a pile of shattered stone stirs. “I think you almost managed to stay on your feet that time!”

Shūhei wants to keep looking at Kensei, but a flicker of dark-edged reiatsu makes him jerk around, eyes narrowing, just as the first stone falls away. Dark, abrasive, smothering power surges like the crack of a whip, and Shūhei remembers it, felt it when Ichigo first invaded the warehouse, has seen it when Shinji tries to drag Ichigo's Hollow to the front and make him face it.

Kensei's eyes widen, and he takes a step back. Too slow, unprepared, and with a vicious, wavering laugh, Ichigo explodes out of the broken stone. Zangetsu whips around, and the flat of that huge blade catches Kensei in the ribs half an instant before he can dodge. With a cry, he’s sent hurtling back, rolling across the ground and slamming into a boulder with a breathless wheeze. It’s not enough for Ichigo, though; he leaps after, dark light blooming around his blade—

One step. Hand up, drag _down_, draw his sword in a blur as his own reiatsu explodes. _Land_, and—

The blast of reiatsu splits, bisected by Kazeshini’s blade, by the equally abrasive snap of Shūhei’s own power. A step to the side, mask shattering, and Shūhei ducks close, reaches up. Snaps the armband from around his bicep and shoves it down the front of Ichigo's shihakusho, and says sharply, “_Ichigo_, stop!”

The blast of the explosive lifts Ichigo off his feet, sends him crashing into the ground several yards away. Instantly, he twists to his feet again, but Shūhei plants himself between Kensei and Ichigo, lifting a hand to his face again. He curls his fingers, ready to pull the mask down again, but doesn’t finish the motion. Meets the Hollow’s glowing golden eyes instead, and says coolly, “You're going too far. This is hardly a threat that needs your interference.”

Behind him, Kensei makes a sound of deep offense, but the Hollow cocks its head. Studies him for a long, long moment, and then lowers its sword. Scoffs, and says in a two-toned, glitching voice, “You don’t even want to fight me.”

“No,” Shūhei says evenly, and sheathes Kazeshini in a familiar motion. “You don’t respect your own power, so how can I?”

The Hollow laughs, angry and mocking, but the mask is already starting to shred as Ichigo fights his way back to the front. “I’ll be the king eventually,” it says.

“No,” Shūhei says, quiet. He watches Ichigo's eyes slide from deadly gold to warm brown, that terrible reiatsu bleeding away, and smiles faintly. “I don’t think you will. He’ll get it eventually.”

One last scoff, and then the Hollow is gone. Ichigo staggers, and Shūhei steps forward to catch him, pulling him to his feet. “Okay?” he asks, letting the teenager lean on him.

“He let go,” Ichigo says, sounding bewildered. He looks up, meeting Shūhei’s eyes, and his own are narrowed in confusion. “He let me have control again.”

“The threat was gone,” Shūhei tells him with a shrug. “He knew I wasn’t going to do anything but bind him if he tried something.”

Ichigo's snort says what he thinks of that theory, but he straightens, slinging Zangetsu over his back, and says quietly, “Sorry, Kensei.”

There's a long, long moment of silence. “Don’t be,” Kensei finally says, and Shūhei doesn’t look around, _can't_. “Not for that, at least.”

Ichigo looks from Shūhei to Kensei, then grimaces. “I’m going to go upstairs,” he says pointedly. “Rematch later?”

“Sure.” Kensei sounds like he has no idea what he’s agreeing to, and Shūhei’s skin crawls with something like shame, or maybe guilt. He takes a breath, not watching Ichigo leave, then steels himself and turns.

Kensei's shihakusho is open, and there’s a 69 tattooed in bold black numbers on his chest.

Shūhei freezes, completely caught off guard, with no idea how to react. Even more unnerving than the Ninth’s badge on Kensei's arm is that number, an echo of the one on his cheek, and he has to swallow hard, takes a step back before he can stop himself.

Kensei follows his gaze, then pauses. Snorts, and looks back up. “Oh, yeah,” he says, like it’s just a passing fancy, like it’s nothing to be concerned about when Shūhei’s _number_ is tattooed _on his chest_. Of course, it’s been a hundred years now—he must be used to it, while Shūhei is most definitely not. “I figured, since you were the reason I became a Shinigami, it was appropriate. Besides, we’re both from the same district.”

Shūhei can feel heat rising in his cheeks, and he has to tear his eyes away, look somewhere else. “It’s—I was just doing my job,” he protests. “There was a Hollow, and you were there, and—”

“And you didn’t have to be nice to me in the aftermath,” Kensei says, stepping closer. His expression is strangely intent, and when Shūhei glances at him, he smirks, slow and sharp. “You're still pretty cool, you know?”

Shūhei has to take a breath, a step back. He gropes for the obvious distraction, and says chidingly, “You shouldn’t be provoking Ichigo right now, his power is unstable.”

“Well, yeah. I can tell that _now_.” Kensei rolls his eyes, but keeps advancing. “But hey, it’s not all bad, right? You got to save me again.”

“The worst he would have done is throw you around,” Shūhei says, tries to make it unimpressed but _can't_, because Kensei is barely two feet from him. Shorter, but broader too, and he’s nothing like the surly kid Shūhei once saved, the one who yelled to hide the fact that he was about to cry.

Taking a breath, Shūhei closes his eyes for a minute, opens them again. “You joined the Ninth,” he says, and can't stop himself from reaching out, touching the white poppy on the badge.

“Of course I did,” Kensei says, like he’s irritated at Shūhei for being slow. “The Ninth was _yours_.”

Like it’s simple. Shūhei snorts, rubbing a hand over his scarred cheek. “Even after Aizen changed us?” he asks wryly.

Kensei's eyes widen, then narrow. “Aizen,” he repeats. “Aizen is the one who was experimenting? Not you?”

“Of course not.” Shūhei frowns at him. “Isn't that obvious at this point?”

Startlingly, Kensei huffs and looks away, flushing. “I guess I just didn’t think about it,” he says. “It’s not like it _matters_. Not as long as you’re alive, right?”

Shūhei’s throat feels thick, and swallowing is hard. “Even if I'm like Ichigo?” he asks quietly.

Another deliberate roll of Kensei's eyes. “You're not like that wimp,” he says dismissively. “You're actually cool, and you don’t trip over your own sword. Besides, you're the one who stopped him from going out of control.”

Shūhei is _not _blushing. He isn't. He _can't_ be. “You—you need to be more careful,” he settles on, and means it, even if not in quite the way he probably should. “Not everyone Aizen changed is able to control themselves, and some of them might look like people you know—”

“I know how illusions work,” Kensei retorts. Pauses, watching him narrowly, and then smirks, stepping right into his space. “If you're like Ichigo, that probably means you're decent in a fight, right? Wanna go? I'm feeling all tense.”

This time, Shūhei can't even _begin_ to fight the heat that rushes to his face. Splutters, jumping back, and Kensei _laughs_.

He sounds bright, delighted. Even if it’s at his expense, Shūhei somehow can't bring himself to mind.


End file.
